Breakdown: Episode 7 Page 4

Mitch took the hint. “Let’s go talk to my boy.”

  Chapter 6 – Leave of Absence

  George wiped his forehead with the back of his arm, taking the sweat but leaving a nice black streak of grease in its place. The place was really starting to heat up, and that concerned him. Were the pumps not moving enough water? Had one of the pipes silted up?

  He pushed the thought away and pulled himself out from under one of the generators. It had broken down early this morning, and although they did have redundant backup generators, the repairs needed to be made. In the meantime, it had taken the majority of the morning to syphon fuel, and the repairs were only half finished. A final, dismal thought entered his mind as one of the other employees took his place under the generator to give George a much needed break: How long were these generators designed to run?

  As soon as his body was idle, anxiety began to flood George’s mind. It was a constant companion these days, but living in these conditions, amplified its effects several fold. The work helped take his mind off of things, but he knew he needed to relax.

  He had no reason to believe these soldiers were here to hurt him. They brought food and clean water to drink, and a shipment of diesel had arrived shortly after they did, buying them another week of time. Things were going to be ok.

  Then why aren’t we being allowed to go home?

  George’s stomach rumbled fiercely. “It has to be almost lunchtime.”

  He took the old pocket watch his father-in-law had gifted him on his wedding day and opened it up.

  “Three, two, one…”

  Twelve p.m. exactly. Lunch time. A flick of the wrist, and the watch was closed and inserted back into the relative safety of his pants pocket.

  Two long whistles rang out, and a moment later were heard repeated further inside of the building.

  The facility was loud, so each of the soldiers carried a pea whistle. The employees had been schooled on several types of whistling codes. Breakfast. Bathroom break. Lunch. Bathroom break. Dinner. Bathroom break. Sleep.

  They’d been divided into shifts, with a “hot” bunk rotation, like on a submarine; four people shared a bed, each taking 6 hour sleep rotations throughout a 24 hour period. It was grueling, but they were alive. They were much better fed than they were before the soldiers arrived, and that gift had helped morale like little else could.

  George opened the door to the cafeteria and stepped inside. The men were all arranged in a line, including the security team, and stood at attention. He took his position in line just as the Colonel began to speak.

  “Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen.”

  “Good afternoon, Colonel,” they intoned as one.

  Already drilled that into us, George marveled.

  The Colonel looked pleased. “You all have been working incredibly hard since our arrival, and I wanted to let you know that it hasn’t gone unnoticed. You all should be proud of yourselves.” He waited while the obligatory round of applause started and died down. “As a way of saying ‘thank you,’ we’ve decided to extend a short leave of absence to a handful of you—three, to be exact—for a week of time at home with your family.

  A cheer rang out, and shouts of men and women demanding they be picked.

  The Colonel held up a single finger, and the noise stopped. “I know you’ve all earned it, but we can only send three out at a time. We’ve decided the fairest way to choose would be a lottery system. We’ve taken the liberty of entering your names into a pool, which I’ll draw from presently.”

  One of the soldiers in black stood next the Colonel, and George recognized his face: Ramirez. He held a box and shook it slightly before the Colonel reached in and drew the first name.

  “Timothy Hunter.” The Colonel’s grin shone remarkably white, making him look like a gameshow host.

  A cheer rang out from Timothy, and George smiled—not because he was happy for Tim, but because he was envisioning Ramirez in a sequined dress, like a proper gameshow host’s assistant would wear.

  “Martina Brown.”

  Another cheer, this one slightly less enthusiastic as the people in the crowd realized their own chances for leave were dwindling.

  “And…Tyson Gibbs.”

  The crowd groaned, and the Colonel held up a hand in silence.

  “Will the three winners please step up front? Sergeant Ramirez will escort you to the truck for transport; we’re taking you home. To the rest of you, please continue your hard work. We’ll be having another lottery soon, and your odds will be much higher now. Hang in there, and enjoy your lunch.”

  The remaining workers dispersed, leaving George with his thoughts. Something was wrong about this—not about letting people leave, but about who had been chosen. He wasn’t sure what exactly it was that bothered him, but the nagging feeling wouldn’t go away.

  He’d just taken a large bite of meatloaf when it came to him.

  Timothy. Martina. Tyson.

  They were all former military, members of the security team. He looked around, wondering if anyone else had pieced that together and dreading what it might mean.

  …

  “All right folks: no guns in the back. It’s a bumpy ride, and we don’t need any accidental discharges.”

  Timothy grinned. That particular bit of phrasing always made him laugh.

  The three members of the security team surrendered their weapons as they climbed into the back of the 7-ton MTRV truck that would carry them home. The sides of the truck bed were walled, the top covered by a camouflaged canvas. Benches lined each side.

  Once aboard, Ramirez lifted the loading ramp, closing the three inside, headed to the cabin, and climbed into the passenger seat. He nodded to the driver, who turned the key. The truck started and they bumped happily along the service road leading away from Calloway.

  The ride was uncomfortable but Timothy, Martina and Tyson didn’t seem to mind.

  “I’m going to sleep for a week.” Timothy said, with a huge grin on his face. “What about you guys?”

  Martina’s face lit up. “Going to cuddle my babies. I’ve got 10 and 12 year old boys. That must be missing their momma right about now.”

  Tyson nodded. “I’m going to spend some time outside and see if I can visit my parents. Let them know everything’s going to be okay.”

  A few more minutes passed in silence as the three reflected on their vacations.

  The truck stopped suddenly, and the three were thrown into one another. The ramp opened just as they began to extricate themselves from their impromptu game of Twister.

  Ramirez’s muffled voice broke the silence. “Sorry, folks. Something’s wrong with the engine. You guys mind hopping out while we fix it? Good chance to stretch your legs.”

  Tyson grinned and climbed out of the truck. “Sure thing. I bet you guys could use another three sets of eyes to keep watch on all of this corn.” Martina and Timothy followed suit.

  The three gathered on the side of the road while Ramirez and the driver popped the hood of the truck. It was Martina who spoke first. “You guys sure live out in the sticks.”

  Tyson frowned. “I live in Columbia. Hardly the sticks.”

  Timothy shook his head. “I commute from Hermann. I guess you could say it’s out in the sticks, but we’re not headed that direction.”

  “Maybe they’re lost?” Martina asked hopefully.

  The others shrugged as the hood of the truck slammed closed. Startled, they turned their head in the direction of the noise and saw the driver standing there dusting his hands off.

  “Are we lost?” Martina asked.

  The driver shook his head sadly. “Afraid so.”

  There was a moment glimmer of hope on Martina’s face. She always liked to help, and giving directions was her expertise. She’d get this sorted,
and be home with her boys in no time.

  The hope lasted only a moment. It died as soon as Ramirez opened fire.

  Chapter 7 – Checkpoint

  “We should have refilled out water with Chuck and Carl!” Talia exclaimed.

  Linus sighed. They’d been out of water most of the morning now, and the day was beginning to heat up—and with it, their tempers. “I know, but we just met them,” he said. “The last time I trusted strangers with something important, it didn’t work out so well.”

  Talia closed her mouth, stunned that Linus would speak so frankly of her daughter’s abduction and her husband’s death. She knew he was right, though. It wasn’t fair of her to blame him for not trusting those men. The logical side of her brain knew this…but the mothering side wanted to rip his throat out for his allowing her son to cry out in thirst. It was a constant battle that raged inside of her.

  Nathan’s screams had dwindled to slight whimpers. Linus and Talia both looked back in wonder as a song filled the air.

  “The itsy bitsy spider, went up the water spout...” Juliana sang quietly, trying to soothe her little brother’s cries. It worked.

  Talia and Linus grinned at one another. “I’m sorry, Linus.”

  “No need for apologies,” Linus said. We’ll find some water up ahead. Missouri’s a karst topography.”

  “A what?” Talia asked.

  Linus smiled. “It means with all of the limestone in this area, we might have trouble finding seeps or springs. A lot of the water is underground, but there are some watersheds and creeks around the area.”

  Talia smiled, relieved. “How’d you know that?”

  “Rocks for jocks.”

  Talia’s eyebrows furrowed. “Please keep in mind that although I’m quite fluent, English isn’t my first language.” She shuffled her feet slightly, “Sometimes I struggle with slang.”

  “Geography. We called it rocks for jocks because it was the easiest science class with a lab in undergraduate studies. I took it because I knew I couldn’t hack chemistry or physics.”

  Talia looked confused. “I still don’t see how jockey straps fit into the equation.”

  Linus held back a laugh. “’Jock’ is slang for someone who is good at sports.”

  The terms clicked, and Talia smiled, realizing she’d inadvertently made a joke. She also realized that Linus didn’t laugh at her, and wondered why. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  “…went up the spout again.”

  A bird squawked, long and shrill.

  No, not a bird, Linus thought, a radio.

  Up ahead two men in camo stood, guarding the trail, AR-15’s held at the ready.

  They stopped dead in their tracks a few hundred yards away, caught like deer in headlights. Talia squinted. The men hadn’t seen them; they were too busy trying to silence their squawking radios. She must have seen something she liked, though, and she smiled at the sight of it. “Linus, I think they’re wearing the same patches that Chuck and Carl wore. This is the checkpoint they talked about. We’re going to be okay.”

  Linus shook his head and pulled her close, lowering his voice to a whisper. “This is what we’re going to do: You and the kids get off of the trail as quietly as you can, and take as much of the supplies as you can grab. Stay in the woods, and don’t make a sound. Do you understand?”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “I’m going to walk up and say hello.”

  “And if they shoot?”

  “They won’t. I’ll tell them that Chuck and Carl sent me.” He smiled his most reassuring smile. “It’ll be fine.”

  “But what if it’s not?”

  Linus sighed. “There’s no time; they’re going to look back this way any second. If things go bad, head deeper into the woods, and keep heading east. Don’t worry about me, I’ll be fine. Now go!”

  Talia didn’t hesitate. She took her children, hushed Juliana’s singing, and after a moment had disappeared from sight. When Linus couldn’t see her anymore, he took the handle of the wagon and pulled it slowly toward the checkpoint.

  About 50 yards out, the wagon wheel squeaked. Gun barrels jerked up, settling on their target. Him.

  Linus’ knees wobbled; his heart quickened as his face flushed. He felt like throwing up. At least I didn’t pee in my pants this time, he thought as he held his hands up high.

  The two men whispered something to one another, keeping their eyes on of Linus.

  “Uhh…I ran into Chuck and Carl a few miles back,” he offered. “They said to tell you I was good to pass.” The rifles didn’t budge.

  Seconds ticked by painfully.

  Anytime now guys, Linus thought.

  One rifle lowered, and the man holding it began to move slowly forward.

  “On the ground. Arms out. We lose sight of your hands, you lose your head.”

  Linus complied, holding his hands on top of his head. He dropped first to his knees and then down on his face. He spread his arms out wide, palms down on the gravel. He was surprised at how cool it was to the touch. It felt nice. He nearly laughed at the absurdity of it until a rough frisk rocked him from his revelry.

  “Well…what have we here?”

  Crap. The revolver. He’d forgotten to give Talia the gun.

  Linus glanced up as far as possible without actually moving his head and saw a filthy hand tuck the chrome revolver into woodland camo pants that were spattered with mud and rust-colored clay. There was a click, and the sound of the cylinder spinning. A moment later, a second click announced it snapping back into place.

  “Pretty nice piece of hardware. Anything else on you we should know about?”

  “No.”

  The man knelt on his back and wrenched Linus’ arms back painfully, securing them at the wrists with a pair of heavy duty zip ties.

  “Up.”

  Once again, Linus obliged, rolling over to his back before standing. The speaker still stood behind him, leaving him unable to get a look at the man’s face. “Chuck and Carl, eh?”

  Linus nodded.

  “What did they say about us?”

  “That you were part of their militia group, and that you’d let me by and maybe even escort me a few miles down the trail.”

  “What’s the deal with the wagon?”

  “Just some supplies.”

  “What sort of supplies?”

  Linus scrambled for words. He wasn’t sure what they’d left in there. “See for yourself.”

  There was a crunch of gravel, boots moving further behind him. Moments later, there were an assortment of rummaging sounds, followed by a series of zips that issued forth from the wagon. Linus held his breath.

  “Food, some empty water bottles, a chance of clothes, a broken flashlight, first aid kit, and…tampons?”

  “Part of the first aid kid. Never know when they’ll come in handy.”

  Silence.

  “Any ammo for the revolver?”

  Linus shook his head. “Ran into some trouble earlier. That’s my last reload.”

  “Shame. Start walking, slowly toward my friend there. Don’t turn around, and don’t stop.”

  Linus looked into the forest once again. Was that a flash of movement?

  Get out of here Talia.

  Something hard jabbed into his back. “That’s a gun muzzle, not me being excited to see you. Walk.”

  Linus put one foot in front of the other, and began to walk, eyes forward. “Where we headed?” he asked, hoping “your open grave” wasn’t the answer he’d receive.

  “Back to camp. There are a few questions we need you to answer there before we can let you move on.”

  Linus nodded and looked up. He was a few feet away from the seco
nd man, with the rifle still trained on him. He was a big man, much bigger than Linus, though that wasn’t a hard feat to manage. Something was off, though. His fatigues were a size too small.

  Maybe that’s just his style? Linus pondered.

  He took another step forward, and the man turned. It was then that Linus realized he was being lied to. There, square in the middle of the back of his camo shirt, was a single hole surrounded by a large rust-colored stain.

  A crunch of twigs brought head jerking toward the forest on instinct.

  A rabbit…God, let it be a rabbit.

  “What’s that? You got friends out there?”

  Linus could feel the heat of the man’s breath on his neck, could smell the rank stench of cheap bourbon and tooth decay that nearly overpowered him. Then, from somewhere within the woods, a toddler cried out. It was only one little mewling cry, silenced swiftly no doubt by a hand over his mouth, but it was enough.

  “You do!” the man said, dragging the words out with perverse glee. “Gunner: Head out there and fetch whoever’s in those woods. I bet he’s got a lady friend.”

  The way the man said those last words made Linus want to vomit. They rang too close to something he would have said and felt just days ago. White-hot anger filled him then, and the thought of his new friends coming to harm washed away any fear.

  Linus inhaled deeply, and snapped his head backwards as hard as he could. There was a loud crunch as head connected sharply with something softer than his skull. Lights danced in his vision, leaving him dazed. He filled his lungs again and screamed, raw and primal. “RUN, TALIA!”

  There was a resounding crack, and the stars swimming in his vision were extinguished, leaving Linus alone in the dark.

  Conclusion

  All right. So you’re finished with “Episode 7” and wondering, “What next?” Why don’t you take a look at the other setting I write for, Running on Empty?